


Stay One More Night

by kiwiiChan



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: 3AM, Candles, Cemetery, Death, Flowers, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mention of blood, Necromancy, Rituals, Witchcraft, witchy, yuwin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-18 23:02:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22167898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwiiChan/pseuds/kiwiiChan
Summary: Sicheng places one hand on Yuta’s chest. Searching, hoping, yearning to feel what he remembers was Yuta’s heartbeat. He used to fall asleep to that, he remembers.
Relationships: Dong Si Cheng | WinWin/Nakamoto Yuta
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	Stay One More Night

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this really late at night and then forgot to post it. pls leave nice comments and spare some kudos 
> 
> twt: @/suhtrwbrry

Rituals aren’t something to mess around with, Yuta knows this, but he grabs five red candles and locks himself in his room for the nth time this week anyway. Maybe he wasn’t begging hard enough the last nine times. Tenth time’s the charm right? He sits on the floor, candle light caressing his figure and the body length mirror to the right of him taking everything in. He says a couple things he will never know the complete translation of, waits for what seems like forever for a sign that this time he finally did it right. But nothing happens. A few crows caw outside his window, the clock reads 2:45 am and his eyelids grow heavier by the second. He’ll try again tomorrow. 

The most terrifying sound of a gasp for air startles Yuta awake. He has to strain his eyes to see in the dark room.

“I sold my soul to live one more day with you,'' Yuta says, once his eyes finally make out the familiar silhouette of a boy he once knew. And he lies there in the wrinkled bed sheets covered with two blankets. It’s cold, so so cold. Brown eyes so blue, swimming in tears that leave a small trail as they make their way from the corner of his eyes to the pillow under his messy silver tangled hair. “Just one more day.”

The boy’s knees give in and hit the wooden floor as his chest caves and he lets out a sob, a sob so full of hurt and anger at the world it echoes from his chest and bounces off the empty walls. He’s certain he’s never hurt this much before. Not when he ran away from home at 16, not when he got 5 stitches on his forehead or when his college roommate broke two of his ribs, not even when he spit out blood and knew he was dying for the first time. It was right now, in this moment, when Yuta’s eyes are filled to the brim with tears and he tries his best to keep his voice from cracking and letting out a sob to look strong for Sicheng. 

“Come on sweetheart, we only have tonight” Yuta’s voice, like honey so sweet and smooth even know when he tries to keep it from shaking, makes a nest in Sicheng’s hallow chest and lures him. He’s always been the stronger one. 

The thin boy gets off the floor and drags his feet over to Yuta, breaking a salt circle with his right foot and kicking an old used hairbrush under their bed with his left one. 

Angels and demons shouldn’t coexist, and yet here they are. A tangled mess of hair and feet and two blankets. 

Yuta doesn’t want to sleep, he wants to stay awake all night and talk to his boy, hold his hand, kiss his knuckles, wipe his tears, hear his stories. But Sicheng looks so tired, the purple under his eyes telling Yuta it’s been a long four months. So instead he lies there making little curls out of Sicheng’s growing hair. Quiet. Watching the boy look at him with wide brown eyes as if trying to memorize him so he never forgets him again. 

Sicheng places one hand on Yuta’s chest. Searching, hoping,  _ yearning _ to feel what he remembers was Yuta’s heartbeat. He used to fall asleep to that, he remembers. 

“It’s okay to sleep now.” Yuta places a small peck on Sicheng’s cold red nose. Another sob, this time from Yuta, and this time the five red candles on the floor all flicker out. 

They press against each other, searching for warmth and forgiveness and tranquility, only one heartbeat in between the two. 

In the evening, when Yuta wakes, the blankets are no longer on him but rather halfway across the room. The remnants of red candles from 3 a.m that early morning, now just a pile of red wax, are stuck to the floor. He lets the rest of the room come into focus. Notices a hairbrush half hidden under the bed, takes note of the scattered salt all over his floor. He knows he didn’t dream it. His body burns cold in all the places his angel touched. His chest being the coldest. He can still feel Sicheng’s hand resting there as his heart beats for him. Yuta knows he sold his soul, but it was worth it. One last night with Sicheng is all he needed. And he knows that one day whatever being he sold his soul to will come and claim it, but he’ll be ready. Today though Yuta sticks his head through an old tshirt, steps into his favorite pair of jeans, finds his shoes under his sofa and makes his way to the little cemetery fifteen minutes away from his place. Placing one foot in front of the other, careful not to disturb the sleeping spirits, kneels down beside a small tombstone decorated with all kinds of colorful flowers, amaryllis and white carnations and he thinks those yellow ones are daffodils, and thanks his angel for one last night. 


End file.
